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To those who’ve inquired about my resources and thoughts regarding autism:

Firstly, a large caveat: I do not have a child with autism. I don’t know a child with autism. I haven’t even read a book on the subject. I am in no sense an expert. If you have a child with autism, you must become the expert—not in autism as such, perhaps, but in your child and his particular case. You must discover, as best as you can, the causes and the solutions. I hope the few ideas I outline below will give you some additional avenues of inquiry to those you’re no doubt already pursuing. I have some background in natural health, and some of that touches on autism, so I’ll share what I know. It’s not prescriptive, professional, expert, or based in personal experience. But I hope it helps.

Diet & General Health

It’s my understanding that autism is commonly (not always) attended by other, less mental, forms of unhealth: asthma, allergies, reflux or other gut issues, possibly adrenal issues, etc. Correlation is not causation, so it’s up for grabs, in my mind, whether autism causes gut issues, or vice versa, or both, or whether both have a common cause. But regardless, I think it’s clear that (at least in terms of behavior, if not physiology and pathology) the physical issues exacerbate the mental issues. So it makes sense to me to treat any GI problems first, for instance, which seems a simpler and more straightforward project than attacking something huge and multifaceted like autism. If this ameliorates the autism and/or its symptoms, great: you now have less work to do on that front, and you have a also better health platform from which to begin the assault.

In the experience of many people, diet is a big factor in managing/treating/curing autism-spectrum disorders and the associated problems mentioned above. This is principally true of diet’s effects on gastrointestinal health, because poor digestion results in (a) diminished nutrient uptake, and (b) increased toxin release in the gut; these toxins often have a direct impact, via the bloodstream, upon the brain. See http://gaps.me/ or just do a Google search on “GAPS diet” (GAPS = “Gut And Psychology Syndrome”) for plenty of material about this. Also the book Breaking the Vicious Cycleand its author’s website. There are lots of other similar resources out there.

Supplements

Since lots of even “perfectly healthy” kids are fairly picky eaters, dietary supplements will likely play an important role in maintaining good health, and (probably) a critical role in addressing any serious health issues. You *can* (and should, as much as possible), get most of the nutrients you need from food, but, frankly, in our industrialized culture, this is incredibly hard to do; and it involves traditional and/or labor-intensive food preparation that may not fit well with atypical child-training issues; also the foods you need may not suit the child’s tastes just yet. Hence, supplements. When evaluating any supplement, consider:

Is it sourced from whole food, with no synthetics? Vitamin E is a good “touchstone”:

best = “mixed tocopherols & tocotrienols” [there are four tocopherols and four tocotrienols, alpha though delta: all eight are important]

decent = “mixed tocopherols”

passable = “d-alpha-tocopherol”

poor = “d-alpha-tocopheryl (acetate)”

synthetic (bad) = “dl-alpha-tocopherol/yl.”

The “dl-” form is not from real food and is at least 50% unusable and/or toxic. Any manufacturer who uses it is considering cost above quality in this and probably all of his other ingredients. Avoid the whole brand.

Does it have artificial colors? (All are bad, but “Red 40” is particularly notorious and there’s no end to the [mostly anecdotal] evidence that it affects mood/concentration/behavior in a significant subset of children. Eliminate these from your kid’s diet and see if it makes a difference.)

Does it have artificial sweeteners (aspartame, a neurotoxin; Splenda/sucralose; etc.), OR high levels of sugar or other “natural” sweeteners? A little fructose is ok, but if a sugar is the first ingredient, you probably want to be leery.

Is it just vitamins & minerals, or does it include a range of phytonutrients (carotenoids, flavonoids, cruciferous compounds, inositol, herbal extracts, etc.)? You want all this stuff.

Does it have significant, or just token, levels of the important nutrients?

Personally we use the children’s vitamins from NeoLife: there’s both a liquid and a couple of chewables. Tastes good, meets the criteria. Vitamin Shoppe has a similar liquid (not as potent) that’s ok, judging by the label, but I don’t trust their manufacturing standards as much as NeoLife’s: they’re pretty much my gold standard for all supplements.

Aside from vitamins/minerals, both high-quality protein (pastured eggs, grass-fed meats, etc.) and whole-food healthy fats are crucial. For lots of reasons, but partly because the brain is made mostly of fat, and the functions of memory-recording always require protein. Also because protein and fat help keep a stable blood sugar, which is important for everyone but especially for diabetics and folks with attention challenges.

Fats: Omega-3 oils are of particular importance. Flax seed and some other plants containt omega-3s, but not the most useful ones. You need a high-quality fish oil. This one is probably the best on the market, but in any case make sure whatever you get is tested for mercury and the other toxins that accumulate in salmon and similar carnivorous fish. You also want coconut oil, which is being increasingly studied as a help for Alzheimer’s, among its manifold other benefits.

(Potential) Causes

Shun Tylenol or any other form of acetaminophen, especially within a week of any vaccination. This article is technical, but the introduction and conclusion are easy enough to read, the theoretical model is persuasive, and the take-away action points are plenty clear.

Research the connection between vaccines and autism. Needless to say this is controversial and hotly disputed, and conclusive data or even objective reporting is hard-won though a smog of propaganda and hazy arguments from both sides (any time Big Pharmaceutical Money butts heads with Mother Bear Instincts, you pretty much get a firestorm). Still, there’s enough out there to suggest that some vaccines (or some vaccine ingredients), in some cases, are at least a contributing factor to autism and a host of other disorders-on-the-rise.

Counsel: if you should come to the conclusion that your child’s autism was caused/exacerbated by a vaccine, or Tylenol, or some other medical intervention, (a) don’t guilt yourself: you did the best you knew at the time; and (b) take heart: the cause isn’t unalterable genes, it’s a toxin and/or a pathogen. Toxins can be de-toxed, and pathogens can be killed; and the damage they’ve caused can often, with time and hard work, be healed. (All this is of course speaking in general terms. Every individual case will vary.)

Discipline & Training

All parenting requires grace; in cases of autism, I’m sure this is only increased. Grace is not only spiritual, and it is more than mercy. Showing grace to a child with autism-spectrum or any other disability should, obviously, take deeply *physical* forms, and other forms as well. It’s bigger than discipline; even bigger than training. http://givethemgrace.com/ may prove helpful here.

Resources are out there. A Google search on “autism discipline strategies” turns up plenty of articles, including this one, basic but solid. Christian resources are available too, e.g., this audio from the National Center for Biblical Parenting (a good group).

Etc.

Research hyperbaric oxygen therapy (HBOT) in relation to autism. Here is one metastudy to get you started.

As I come across new resources, I’ll likely add them to this post via edits. So if you’re interested, leave a comment or follow the post in some other fashion that lets you get the updates.

To my mother: I know you’ll have some excellent additional resources as well, so please list them in the comments, when you have time.

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(on the way to church from Sunday morning milk pickup at the lately-pumpkin-and-ghost-bedecked local farm)

David: Why is there no church day in Halloween?

Me: Er, what do you mean?

David: Why does Halloween not have a church day?

Me: Oh: do you mean, why do we not go to church during the Halloween season?

David: Yes.

Me: Well… Christmas is a day, but it’s also a season. Halloween isn’t really a season in the same way… though the decorations do come out a while before the day itself, I guess. Hallow-e’en means “All Hallows Eve.” All Hallows’ Day, or All Saints’ Day, is November first. (Hallowed means “holy,” which is we call them “holy-days,” or holidays. Holy mean “set apart” or special.) So: All Saints’ Day, or All Hallows Day, is the day when we celebrate all God’s holy Saints. And All Hallows Eve is the holiday—or I should say the day; or night, rather—before All Saints’ Day.

David: But if it’s a holiday, why do people put up scary decorations?

Me: Wellll… Grm. All Saints’ Day is a holiday, but I don’t know that Halloween is a holiday.

(sigh)

You know, David: I guess some people who do not like God, and who like Satan instead, use Halloween to celebrate bad things instead of good things. Some good people use Halloween to celebrate pumpkins and fall and good things, but other people use Halloween to celebrate bad things. It’s not really the best thing to do, but that’s how it is.

David: But— but the farmer is a good person; so why does she have scary decorations?

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Me (finishing the day’s Advent reading from The Jesse Tree): “… before time, He had another plan. A plan not to destroy the world, but to rescue it, by sending His Own Son to save it.”

David: Who is God’s son?

I have just played the part of Gabriel in our church’s live nativity, delivering to the first human ears the Name Above All Names, and perhaps the first Trinitarian statement of the New Testament: “The HOLY SPIRIT shall come upon you, and the power of the MOST HIGH shall overshadow you: therefore the Holy One you are to bear shall be the SON OF GOD.”

Me (smiling): JESUS is God’s Son.

David (quizzical look): But…

Me (smiling some more): Jesus is God; and Jesus is also God’s Son.

David (fully cognizant of the former proposition, and properly trained in the latter, but only now seeing them juxtaposed): But how can there be two Jesuses?

Me: There are not two Jesuses. God the Father is God; and Jesus His Son is also God. There is only one God; but there are three Persons: God the Father, Jesus the Son, and the Holy Spirit. It is called Trinity, three in one. It is hard to understand.

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I’ve liked all the G.K. Chesterton I’ve read, and lately Mars Hill Audio has been running a series of interviews with the authors of books on the man and his works. Which has prompted me to go read more Chesterton. Having already read Orthodoxy, and having both a limited supply of funds and of options at the local library, I opted for their copy of his biographical sketch St. Thomas Aquinas: “The Dumb Ox.”

Since to improve on Chesteron is impossible, and since the work itself is already a slim summary of a gargantuan subject, I’ll make no attempt either to review or to summarize. But I will quote some choice passages, to whet the appetite of anyone interested in a bit of hagiography that also serves pretty well as a characterization of the apex of the Medieval era.

On Revolutions

This is just simply delicious. [From Chapter III]

Perhaps there is really no such thing as a Revolution recorded in history. What happened was always a Counter-Revolution. Men were always rebelling against the last rebels; or even repenting of the last rebellion. This could be seen in the most casual contemporary fashions, if the fashionable mind had not fallen into the habit of seeing the very latest rebel as rebelling against all ages at once. The Modern Girl with the lipstick and the cocktail is as much a rebel against the Woman’s Rights Woman of the ’80’s, with her stiff stick-up collars and strict teetotalism, as the latter was a rebel against the Early Victorian lady of the languid waltz tunes and the album full of quotations from Byron: or as the last, again, was a rebel against a Puritan mother to whom the waltz was a wild orgy and Byron the Bolshevist of his age. Trace even the Puritan mother back through history and she represents a rebellion against the Cavalier laxity of the English Church, which was at first a rebel against the Catholic civilisation, which had been a rebel against the Pagan civilisation. Nobody but a lunatic could pretend that these things were a progress; for they obviously go first one way and then the other. But whichever is right, one thing is certainly wrong; and that is the modern habit of looking at them only from the modern end. For that is only to see the end of the tale; they rebel against they know not what, because it arose they know not when; intent only on its ending, they are ignorant of its beginning; and therefore of its very being. The difference between the smaller cases and the larger, is that in the latter there is really so huge a human upheaval that men start from it like men in a new world; and that very novelty enables them to go on very long; and generally to go on too long. It is becausethese things start with a vigorous revolt that the intellectual impetus lasts long enough to make them seem like a survival. An excellent example of this is the real story of the revival and the neglect of Aristotle. By the end of the medieval time, Aristotelianism did eventually grow stale. Only a very fresh and successful novelty ever gets quite so stale as that. When the moderns, drawing the blackest curtain of obscurantism that ever obscured history, decided that nothing mattered much before the Renaissance and the Reformation, they instantly began their modern career by falling into a big blunder. It was the blunder about Platonism. They found, hanging about the courts of the swaggering princes of the sixteenth century (which was as far back in history as they were allowed to go) certain anti-clerical artists and scholars who said they were bored with Aristotle and were supposed to be secretly indulging in Plato. The moderns, utterly ignorant of the whole story of the medievals, instantly fell into the trap. They assumed that Aristotle was some crabbed antiquity and tyranny from the black back of the Dark Ages, and that Plato was an entirely new Pagan pleasure never yet tasted by Christian men. Father Knox has shown in what a startling state of innocence is the mind of Mr. H. L. Mencken, for instance, upon this point. In fact, of course, the story is exactly the other way round. If anything, it was Platonism that was the old orthodoxy. It was Aristotelianism that was the very modern revolution. And the leader of that modern revolution was the man who is the subject of this book.

On Science and Religion

[From Chapter III]

We have all heard of the humility of the man of science; of many who were very genuinely humble; and of some who were very proud of their humility. It will be the somewhat too recurrent burden of this brief study that Thomas Aquinas really did have the humility of the man of science; as a special variant of the humility of the saint. It is true that he did not himself contribute anything concrete in the experiment or detail of physical science; in this, it may be said, he even lagged behind the last generation, and was far less of an experimental scientist than his tutor Albertus Magnus. But for all that, he was historically a great friend to the freedom of science. The principles he laid down, properly understood, are perhaps the best that can be produced for protecting science from mere obscurantist persecution. For instance, in the matter of the inspiration of Scripture, he fixed first on the obvious fact, which was forgotten by four furious centuries of sectarian battle, that the meaning of Scripture is very far from self-evident and that we must often interpret it in the light of other truths. If a literal interpretation is really and flatly contradicted by an obvious fact, why then we can only say that the literal interpretation must be a false interpretation. But the fact must really be an obvious fact. And unfortunately, nineteenth century scientists were just as ready to jump to the conclusion that any guess about nature was an obvious fact, as were seventeenth-century sectarians to jump to the conclusion that any guess about Scripture was the obvious explanation. Thus, private theories about what the Bible ought to mean, and premature theories about what the world ought to mean, have met in loud and widely advertised controversy, especially in the Victorian time; and this clumsy collision of two very impatient forms of ignorance was known as the quarrel of Science and Religion.

On Philosophical Argument

[Also from Chapter III]

If there is one sentence that could be carved in marble, as representing the calmest and most enduring rationality of his unique intelligence[; i]f there is one phrase that stands before history as typical of Thomas Aquinas, it is that phrase about his own argument: “It is not based on documents of faith, but on the reasons and statements of the philosophers themselves.” Would that all Orthodox doctors in deliberation were as reasonable as Aquinas in anger! Would that all Christian apologists would remember that maxim; and write it up in large letters on the wall, before they nail any theses there. At the top of his fury, Thomas Aquinas understands, what so many defenders of orthodoxy will not understand. It is no good to tell an atheist that he is an atheist; or to charge a denier of immortality with the infamy of denying it; or to imagine that one can force an opponent to admit he is wrong, by proving that he is wrong on somebody else’s principles, but not on his own. After the great example of Saint Thomas, the principle stands, or ought always to have stood established; that we must either not argue with a man at all, or we must argue on his grounds and not ours. We may do other things insteadof arguing, according to our views of what actions are morally permissible; but if we argue we must argue “On the reasons and statements of the philosophers themselves.”

On Argumentation in General

[From Chapter V]

There may be many who do not understand the nature even of this sort of abstraction. But then, unfortunately, there are many who do not understand the nature of any sort of argument. Indeed, I think there are fewer people now alive who understand argument than there were twenty or thirty years ago; and Saint Thomas might have preferred the society of the atheists of the early nineteenth century to that of the blank sceptics of the early twentieth. Anyhow, one of the real disadvantages of the great and glorious sport, that is called argument, is its inordinate length. If you argue honestly, as Saint Thomas always did, you will find that the subject sometimes seems as if it would never end. He was strongly conscious of this fact, as appears in many places; for instance his argument that most men must have a revealed religion, because they have not time to argue. No time, that is, to argue fairly. There is always time to argue unfairly; not least in a time like ours. Being himself resolved to argue, to argue honestly, to answer everybody, to deal with everything, he produced books enough to sink a ship or stock a library; though he died in comparatively early middle age. Probably he could not have done it at all, if he had not been thinking even when he was not writing; but above all thinking combatively. This, in his case, certainly did not mean bitterly or spitefully or uncharitably; but it did mean combatively. As a matter of fact, it is generally the man who is not ready to argue, who is ready to sneer. That is why, in recent literature, there has been so little argument and so much sneering.

(I was about to title this subsection “On Facebook and the Blogosphere (to say nothing of talk radio)”; but then decided that probably qualified as sneering, too. This stuff is infectious, isn’t it?)

Since the modern world began in the sixteenth century, nobody’s system of philosophy has really corresponded to everybody’s sense of reality: to what, if left to themselves, common men would call common sense. Each started with a paradox: a peculiar point of view demanding the sacrifice of what they would call a sane point of view. That is the one thing common to Hobbes and Hegel, to Kant and Bergson. to Berkeley and William James. A man had to believe something that no normal man would believe, if it were suddenly propounded to his simplicity; as that law is above right, or right is outside reason, or things are only as we think them, or everything is relative to a reality that is not there. The modern philosopher claims, like a sort of confidence man, that if once we will grant him this, the rest will be easy; he will straighten out the world, if once he is allowed to give this one twist to the mind. It will be understood that in these matters I speak as a fool; or, as our democratic cousins would say, a moron; anyhow as a man in the street; and the only object of this chapter is to show that the Thomist philosophy is nearer than most philosophies to the mind of the man in the street. … Let the man in the street be forgiven, if he adds that [it] seems to him to be that Saint Thomas was sane and Hegel was mad. The moron refuses to admit that Hegel can both exist and not exist; or that it can be possible to understand Hegel, if there is no Hegel to understand. … And this is what I mean saying that all modern philosophy starts with a stumbling-block. It is surely not too much to say that there seems to be a twist, in saying that contraries are not incompatible; or that a thing can “be” intelligible and not as yet “be” at all. Against all this the philosophy of Saint Thomas stands founded on the universal common conviction that eggs are eggs. The Hegelian may say that an egg is really a hen, because it is a part of an endless process of Becoming; the Berkeleian may hold that poached eggs only exist as a dream exists; since it is quite as easy to call the dream the cause of the eggs as the eggs the cause of the dream; the Pragmatist may believe that we get the best out of scrambled eggs by forgetting that they ever were eggs, and only remembering the scramble. But no pupil of Saint Thomas needs to addle his brains in order adequately to addle his eggs; to put his head at any peculiar angle in looking at eggs, or squinting at eggs, or winking the other eye in order to see a new simplification of eggs. The Thomist stands in the broad daylight of the brotherhood of men, in their common consciousness that eggs are not hens or dreams or mere practical assumptions; but things attested by the Authority of the Senses, which is from God.

On the Syllogism

[From Chapter VI, “The Approach to Thomism”] The categorical syllogism in brief: Major premise: All A are B. Minor premise: All C are A. Conclusion: All C are B.

I have never understood why there is supposed to be something crabbed or antique about a syllogism; still less can I understand what any-body means by talking as if induction had somehow taken the place of deduction. The whole point of deduction is that true premises produce a true conclusion. What is called induction seems simply to mean collecting a larger number of true premises. or perhaps, in some physical matters, taking rather more trouble to see that they are true. It may be a fact that a modern man can get more out of a great many premises, concerning microbes or asteroids than a medieval man could get out of a very few premises about salamanders and unicorns. But the process of deduction from the data is the same for the modern mind as for the medieval mind; and what is pompously called induction is simply collecting more of the data. And Aristotle or Aquinas, or anybody in his five wits, would of course agree that the conclusion could only be true if the premises were true; and that the more true premises there were the better. It was the misfortune of medieval culture that there were not enough true premises, owing to the rather ruder conditions of travel or experiment. But however perfect were the conditions of travel or experiment, they could only produce premises; it would still be necessary to deduce conclusions. But many modern people talk as if what they call induction were some magic way of reaching a conclusion, without using any of those horrid old syllogisms. But induction does not lead us to a conclusion. Induction only leads us to a deduction. Unless the last three syllogistic steps are all right, the conclusion is all wrong. Thus, the great nineteenth century men of science, whom I was brought up to revere (“accepting the conclusions of science,” it was always called), went out and closely inspected the air and the earth, the chemicals and the gases, doubtless more closely than Aristotle or Aquinas, and then came back and embodied their final conclusion in a syllogism. “All matter is made of microscopic little knobs which are indivisible. My body is made of matter. Therefore my body is made of microscopic little knobs which are indivisible.” They were not wrong in the form of their reasoning; because it is the only way to reason. In this world there is nothing except a syllogism—and a fallacy. But of course these modern men knew, as the medieval men knew, that their conclusions would not be true unless their premises were true. And that is where the trouble began. For the men of science, or their sons and nephews, went out and took another look at the knobby nature of matter; and were surprised to find that it was not knobby at all. So they came back and completed the process with their syllogism; “All matter is made of whirling protons and electrons. My body is made of matter. Therefore my body is made of whirling protons and electrons.” And that again is a good syllogism; though they may have to look at matter once or twice more, before we know whether it is a true premise and a true conclusion. But in the final process of truth there is nothing else except a good syllogism. The only other thing is a bad syllogism; as in the familiar fashionable shape; “All matter is made of protons and electrons. I should very much like to think that mind is much the same as matter. So I will announce, through the microphone or the megaphone, that my mind is made of protons and electrons.” But that is not induction; it is only a very bad blunder in deduction. That is not another or new way of thinking; it is only ceasing to think.

On Form

[From Chapter VI, “The Approach to Thomism”]

We say nowadays, “I wrote a formal apology to the Dean,” or “The proceedings when we wound up the Tip-Cat Club were purely formal.” But we mean that they were purely fictitious; and Saint Thomas, had he been a member of the Tip-Cat Club, would have meant just the opposite. He would have meant that the proceedings dealt with the very heart and soul and secret of the whole being of the Tip-Cat Club; and that the apology to the Dean was so essentially apologetic that it tore the very heart out in tears of true contrition. For “formal” in Thomist language means actual, or possessing the real decisive quality that makes a thing itself. Roughly when he describes a thing as made out of Form and Matter, he very rightly recognises that Matter is the more mysterious and indefinite and featureless element; and that what stamps anything with its own identity is its Form. Matter, so to speak, is not so much the solid as the liquid or gaseous thing in the cosmos: and in this most modern scientists are beginning to agree with him. But the form is the fact; it is that which makes a brick a brick, and a bust a bust, and not the shapeless and trampled clay of which either may be made. The stone that broke a statuette, in some Gothic niche, might have been itself a statuette; and under chemical analysis, the statuette is only a stone. But such a chemical analysis is entirely false as a philosophical analysis. The reality, the thing that makes the two things real, is in the idea of the image and in the idea of the image-breaker. This is only a passing example of the mere idiom of the Thomist terminology; but it is not a bad prefatory specimen of the truth of Thomist thought. Every artist knows that the form is not superficial but fundamental; that the form is the foundation. Every sculptor knows that the form of the statue is not the outside of the statue, but rather the inside of the statue; even in the sense of the inside of the sculptor. Every poet knows that the sonnet-form is not only the form of the poem; but the poem.

To restate or elaborate: Forms are not variously-shaped molds into which identical contents can be poured, as one might freeze water in a champagne glass, a flowerpot, and a rubber glove, and call all the products equally “ice”; form is what makes one piece of ice a drink-cooler, another a ship-sinker, and another a minuscule and slowly falling star. The form is what gives being to the content as a particular kind of content. Form precedes content and is more primary.

And while on this topic I will also quote briefly from Neil Postman’s Amusing Ourselves to Death (from Chapter 1, “The Medium is the Metaphor”):

This idea—that there is a content called “the news of the day”—was entirely created by the telegraph (and since amplified by newer media), which made it possible to move decontextualized information over vast spaces at incredible speed. The news of the day is a figment of our technological imagination. It is, quite precisely, a media event. We attend to fragments of events from all over the world because we have multiple media whose forms are well suited to fragmented conversation. Cultures without speed-of-light media—let us say, cultures in which smoke signals are the most efficient space-conquering tool available—do not have news of the day. Without a medium to create its form, the news of the day does not exist.

Postman wrote this in 1985.

On the Fullness of Being

[From Chapter VII, “The Permanent Philosophy”]

I have pointed out that mere modern free-thought has left everything in a fog, including itself. The assertion that thought is free led first to the denial that will is free; but even about that there was no real determination among the Determinists. In practice, they told men that they must treat their will as free though it was not free. In other words, Man must live a double life; which is exactly the old heresy of Siger of Brabant about the Double Mind. In other words, the nineteenth century left everything in chaos: and the importance of Thomism to the twentieth century is that it may give us back a cosmos. We can give here only the rudest sketch of how Aquinas, like the Agnostics, beginning in the cosmic cellars, yet climbed to the cosmic towers.

Without pretending to span within such limits the essential Thomist idea, I may be allowed to throw out a sort of rough version of the fundamental question, which I think I have known myself, consciously or unconsciously since my childhood. When a child looks out of the nursery window and sees anything, say the green lawn of the garden, what does he actually know; or does he know anything? There are all sorts of nursery games of negative philosophy played round this question. A brilliant Victorian scientist delighted in declaring that the child does not see any grass at all; but only a sort of green mist reflected in a tiny mirror of the human eye. This piece of rationalism has always struck me as almost insanely irrational. If he is not sure of the existence of the grass, which he sees through the glass of a window, how on earth can he be sure of the existence of the retina, which he sees through the glass of a microscope? If sight deceives, why can it not go on deceiving? Men of another school answer that grass is a mere green impression on the mind; and that he can be sure of nothing except the mind. They declare that he can only be conscious of his own consciousness; which happens to be the one thing that we know the child is not conscious of at all. In that sense, it would be far truer to say that there is grass and no child, than to say that there is a conscious child but no grass. Saint Thomas Aquinas, suddenly intervening in this nursery quarrel, says emphatically that the child is aware of Ens. Long before he knows that grass is grass, or self is self, he knows that something is something. Perhaps it would be best to say very emphatically (with a blow on the table), “There is an Is.” That is as much monkish credulity as Saint Thomas asks of us at the start. Very few unbelievers start by asking us to believe so little. And yet, upon this sharp pin-point of reality, he rears by long logical processes that have never really been successfully overthrown, the whole cosmic system of Christendom.

Thus, Aquinas insists very profoundly but very practically, that there instantly enters, with this idea of affirmation the idea of contradiction. It is instantly apparent, even to the child, that there cannot be both affirmation and contradiction. Whatever you call the thing he sees, a moon or a mirage or a sensation or a state of consciousness, when he sees it, he knows it is not true that he does not see it. Or whatever you call what he is supposed to be doing, seeing or dreaming or being conscious of an impression, he knows that if he is doing it, it is a lie to say he is not doing it. Therefore there has already entered something beyond even the first fact of being; there follows it like its shadow the first fundamental creed or commandment, that a thing cannot be and not be. Henceforth, in common or popular language, there is a false and true. I say in popular language, because Aquinas is nowhere more subtle than in pointing out that being is not strictly the same as truth; seeing truth must mean the appreciation of being by some mind capable of appreciating it. But in a general sense there has entered that primeval world of pure actuality, the division and dilemma that brings the ultimate sort of war into the world; the everlasting duel between Yes and No. This is the dilemma that many sceptics have darkened the universe and dissolved the mind solely in order to escape. They are those who maintain that there is something that is both Yes and No. I do not know whether they pronounce it Yo.

The next step following on this acceptance of actuality or certainty, or whatever we call it in popular language, is much more difficult to explain in that language. But it represents exactly the point at which nearly all other systems go wrong, and in taking the third step abandon the first. Aquinas has affirmed that our first sense of fact is a fact; and he cannot go back on it without falsehood. But when we come to look at the fact or facts, as we know them, we observe that they have a rather queer character; which has made many moderns grow strangely and restlessly sceptical about them. For instance, they are largely in a state of change, from being one thing to being another; or their qualities are relative to other things; or they appear to move incessantly; or they appear to vanish entirely. At this point, as I say, many sages lose hold of the first principle of reality, which they would concede at first; and fall back on saying that there is nothing except change; or nothing except comparison; or nothing except flux; or in effect that there is nothing at all. Aquinas turns the whole argument the other way, keeping in line with his first realisation of reality. There is no doubt about the being of being, even if it does sometimes look like becoming; that is because what we see is not the fullness of being; or (to continue a sort of colloquial slang) we never see being being as much as it can. Ice is melted into cold water and cold water is heated into hot water; it cannot be all three at once. But this does not make water unreal or even relative; it only means that its being is limited to being one thing at a time. But the fullness of being is everything that it can be; and without it the lesser or approximate forms of being cannot be explained as anything; unless they are explained away as nothing.

This crude outline can only at the best be historical rather than philosophical. It is impossible to compress into it the metaphysical proofs of such an idea; especially in the medieval metaphysical language. But this distinction in philosophy is tremendous as a turning point in history. Most thinkers, on realising the apparent mutability of being, have really forgotten their own realisation of the being, and believed only in the mutability. They cannot even say that a thing changes into another thing; for them there is no instant in the process at which it is a thing at all. It is only a change. It would be more logical to call it nothing changing into nothing, than to say (on these principles) that there ever was or will be a moment when the thing is itself. Saint Thomas maintains that the ordinary thing at any moment is something; but it is not everything that it could be. There is a fullness of being, in which it could be everything that it can be. Thus, while most sages come at last to nothing but naked change, he comes to the ultimate thing that is unchangeable, because it is all the other things at once. While they describe a change which is really a change in nothing, he describes a changelessness which includes the changes of everything. Things change because they are not complete; but their reality can only be explained as part of something that is complete. It is God.

…

To sum up; the reality of things, the mutability of things, the diversity of things, and all other such things that can be attributed to things, is followed carefully by the medieval philosopher, without losing touch with the original point of the reality. There is no space in this book to specify the thousand steps of thought by which he shows that he is right. But the point is that, even apart from being right he is real. He is a realist in a rather curious sense of his own, which is a third thing, distinct from the almost contrary medieval and modern meanings of the word. Even the doubts and difficulties about reality have driven him to believe in more reality rather than less. The deceitfulness of things which has had so sad an effect on so many sages, has almost a contrary effect on this sage. If things deceive us, it is by being more real than they seem. As ends in themselves they always deceive us; but as things tending to a greater end, they are even more real than we think them. If they seem to have a relative unreality (so to speak) it is because they are potential and not actual; they are unfulfilled, like packets of seeds or boxes of fireworks. They have it in them to be more real than they are. And there is an upper world of what the Schoolman called Fruition, or Fulfilment, in which all this relative relativity becomes actuality; in which the trees burst into flower or the rockets into flame.

Or, I might add, vice versa.

Reality and the Soul of the Ox

The image below came to me as I neared the end of this book. The quotes above will not explain it, for it has more to do with the person of St. Thomas than his philosophy, which is chiefly what I have been interested in. But if you read the book much of it will come clear, with the exception of the acronym ΙΧΘΥΣ. This quote may also prove helpful:

When a cow came slouching by in a field next to me, a mere artist might have drawn it; but I always get wrong in the hind legs of quadrupeds. So I drew the soul of the cow; which I saw there plainly walking before me in the sunlight; and the soul was all purple and silver, and had seven horns and the mystery that belongs to all beasts. But though I could not with a crayon get the best out of the landscape, it does not follow that the landscape was not getting the best out of me. (from Chesterton’s essay “A Piece of Chalk”)

St. Thomas: a meditation.

And so, having wandered afield into fantastic visions of trees afire and seven-horned beasts and the Dumb Ox in cosmic glory and terranean humility, it appropriate only to conclude with these two final quotations:

The Evangelium has not abrogated legends; it has hallowed them, especially the “happy ending.” The Christian has still to work, with mind as well as body, to suffer, hope, and die; but he may now perceive that all his bents and faculties have a purpose, which can be redeemed. So great is the bounty with which he has been treated that he may now, perhaps, fairly dare to guess that in Fantasy he may actually assist in the effoliation and multiple enrichment of creation. All tales may come true; and yet, at the last, redeemed, they may be as like and as unlike the forms that we give them as Man, finally redeemed, will be like and unlike the fallen that we know. (J.R.R. Tolkien, “On Fairy-stories,” the closing lines)

And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” (Revelation 21:5, ESV)

Idea 1: Build Anything

(Aside: this interview is notably longer on the web than in the magazine print version, where I originally read it. That says something about our current media culture. Maybe several somethings.)

There is a great deal about Joi Ito and his current work at the MIT Media Lab that should be applauded. In the first place, he’s building things, rather than merely “providing services” or spinning out impossible ideas.

In the second, he eschews hyperspecialization, and keeps his focus broad:

I think the Media Lab is unique in its ability to be multi-disciplinary but execution-oriented.

That combination is rare, and is a Really Good Idea. We need more places like this.

In the third place, he’s leveraging the increasing cheapness of technology to make this execution really practical. One of the cool things about technology (in fact perhaps its defining benefit) is that the more of it you have, the cheaper it gets. This is true of lots of things, but probably more so of technology than, say, sheep or lumber or granite.

Never Say Never

But what Ito is up to is also pretty scary, in a number of respects. For instance:

It’s a risk-taking, extremely creative, build-oriented, multi-disciplinary place where there isn’t a single thing that we would ever say we would never do.

To be fair, Ito would (probably) say no. But then again, maybe he would just ask how much money was in it. Who knows? The point is that, while he may possess them, moral constraints are nowhere to be found on the basic grid he uses for assessing new ideas. This to me is scary.

Neoteny

MJ: Your investment fund is named Neoteny. What does that mean?

JI: “Neoteny” is the retention of childlike attributes in adulthood. As a child you learn, you have wonder, you’re curious, and every day’s a new day. But at some point you become an adult. And as an adult you focus on producing, reproducing, protecting. In the old days, the world didn’t change very much, so once you became a plumber, you didn’t really need to learn that much more about plumbing. Today you have to keep learning, and learning is somewhat of a childlike behavior. We want the Media Lab to be more like kindergarten and less like a lumber mill.

Again, there’s plenty here worth lauding. There should be no argument that “work” should include as much like “learning” as possible, because learning is fun, and work—to the degree that it prohibits discovery and invention and improvement—is not. Of course the issue is a lot muddier than this, because a lot of the imaginative and creative learning has been stripped out of our schools, and at the same time a lot of it is still being done at the adult level (in colleges and seminars and research labs and lots of places); but Ito is correct that whatever is good about childhood learning is something that adults can and should benefit from. Kids like colors and stories and music and rhyme: but it’s not because they’re kids, it’s because they’re human. The fact that college students can learn without such fun mnemonic aids doesn’t mean they should have to, or that it’s the best way.

But there’s something creepy here too. Neoteny is in fact a disease, or a disorder. Irrespective of Joi Ito’s juvenile philosophizing, when you witness it in nature, it’s pretty obviously not right.

Take the axolotl, a salamander that develops reproductive capacity but never loses its gills, and so never leaves the water. It’s curious, and maybe even cute, and is anyhow an amazing example of genetic flexibility. But it also doesn’t live up to its classification as an “amphibian.” And there’s a lot of the world it never sees.

Neoteny in humans is even scarier. And sadder.

Because the waters that it lives in are increasingly polluted, the axolotl is in danger of extinction.

Idea 2: Precision Pesticides

Better Death

A little-known fact is that less than 1 percent of the insecticide in a traditional spray application actually hits its target….

That’s reason enough right there to build a better mousetrap. And there’s no need to recount all the badness that accrues from traditional pesticide methods.

Higher kill rates and lower pollution levels are pretty appealing, I have to admit. And joining a poison with a female pheromone is pretty specially ingenious means of killing large numbers of insects at once, too.

And since we do live in a fallen world, and since pests really are pests, there may be a place for such a thing.

But What If

But what if all this is just a science fiction story waiting to be told?

What if this pest fills an ecological niche, say as a food source for a bird that also gobbles up the crop’s secondary and tertiary pests? Or those of the field next door? What if it is adopted so broadly, and works so well, that a few dozen species of pest simply go extinct?

Or what if, conversely, the synthetic version of the pheromone doesn’t attract every male of the species equally, but only the weakest and stupidest? Do we really want to kick natural selection up to that very unnatural level?

What if a targeted assault on a given species holds no less hubris, in its essence, than a broadcast assault?

And what if this pheromone should happen to attract not only the crop’s major pest, but also its primary pollinator?

A Fable

Once upon a time, Hawaii had a rat problem. The rats were eating all the sugar cane. Some clever orc realized that mongooses eat rats. So they imported mongooses.

The mongooses ignored the rats, and ate the eggs of the native birds.

A Future

For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God.

For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.

For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. (Rom. 8:19-25)

Someday the remnant of mankind—those that have the faith and hope of a child!—will grow up.

Someday the adoption will be completed, and death and faith and hope will be done away, and the lion will lie down with the lamb, and the mongoose with the bird of Paradise.

For now we wait with patience, and yet say Marana Tha.

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My resourceful wife got me, somehow, a free subscription to Popular Science. I just finished reading this cover story about autonomous cars from the September issue. As with much of the magazine, it’s half science, and half speculation that probably doesn’t quite make the cut for hard SF. The science in this article is reasonably interesting, but the speculation that’s going on is just plain scary.

The central real-life example used here was a prototype car that talked to the traffic light ahead to figure out when the light was going to turn green, and cruised through without braking unnecessarily. Fine. That’s cool, and vaguely useful. But then the SF takes over and gets creepy. For instance:

That near-literal leap of faith illustrates a trade-off that we will all soon face. For Liccardo’s stoplight experiment to be safe in the real world, every car would have to communicate not just with the lights but also with every surrounding car. Yet some engineers dream of a system in which decisions about stopping and starting are left to computers. Humans, with our propensity for random and potentially disastrous action, would be removed from the equation, and the motion of individual cars would be coordinated like packets negotiating a journey across the Internet. Which sounds a bit frightening. But if we were to trust the system that much, to let go of the wheel entirely, we might gain a great deal. Cars could travel in self-guided traffic swarms, moving within inches of each other, cruising through stop lights with milliseconds to spare. Traffic would decrease, and fuel efficiency would increase—theoretically, at least.

Once you start talking like this, pretty soon you have to ask: Why are we driving cars at all? The automobile used to be a symbol (and a means) of personal independence. How much independence exists in this futuristic vision? “Self-guided traffic swarms” sounds about as appealing as a hive mind, and probably for similar reasons.

Time was, folks drove cars because they thought driving was fun. The cars being described in the article assume as a first principle that driving is boring, and must therefore be replaced by other (specifically computer-based) forms of entertainment:

…distraction will be exactly what we seek as we while away the commute in our idiotproof pleasure domes. …. Soon, social-networking applications will allow drivers to communicate with one another as if chatting online.

Um, but why not just roll down the window?

Then comes augmented reality: information about the landscape ahead being projected into the driver’s field of vision, like an annotated windshield. The road itself could become another layer of entertainment.

Again I have to ask: why are we driving cars? Wouldn’t it be simpler, cheaper, and more environmentally sound to simply increase the rail network of the country and go back to taking the train? (Cf. any major city in Europe.) If you actually have a commute so long you want to be bumming around on FaceBook, why not cut out the driving altogether? Why not watch your Blu-Ray on your nine-inch tablet instead of your four-inch dashboard screen? In fact, why not walk over to the dining car, have a three-course meal and a drink, and talk with fellow travelers while you’re at it? One bullet train and the guy or two driving it may or may not be smarter than a thousand computerized cars (depends on how you’re tallying IQ points), but I dare say they’re a lot cheaper.

I guess I’m saying, are we REALLY simplifying and improving our lives by outfitting every one of several billion cars with a Mars Rover’s worth of sensors, cameras, gyros, antennae, and microchips? And furthermore, if we’re working our tails off to create (or, as consumers, to afford) “idiotproof pleasure domes,” don’t we have to stop and ask: “What exactly does that make us?”

I think some of these engineers and dreamers need to go back and watch Wall-E and consider what societal goals we’re really trying to attain.

… On the other hand, I do derive a wry sort of comfort from reviewing the old cover art of this magazine, and considering what fraction of its predictions have made the cut into actuality….